Stay with me
by BreathSlowAndHeavy
Summary: Four months went by before he gave in. He knew Jim existed, he had to exist. No one obsesses over a fictional character, not like this. No one cries themselves to sleep each and every night, no one brings the knife across the skin because it's the only pain equal to which he feels inside of him. He had to give in, or his mind would tear itself apart.


Sebastian lay there, curled in bed; the drink finally taking control of him, disabling him from moving at all. The only safe haven being his bed. Maybe if Jim hadn't fucked off somewhere on another job, he wouldn't be like this. But that's just how the ritual went, they'd fuck, Jim would leave for days making sure to ignore Sebastian, causing him to worry about the absence and lack of contact between them. Sebastian would drink himself half to death each time; the length of absence growing longer each and every time Jim ran, he didn't leave every time the fucked of course, just when he decided Sebastian needed reminding that his emotions were ruling him, and he had to play the game to keep him there. To keep him his. Yet he always returned, he started to miss his sniper, his touch, his voice. As much as he hated to admit it; he needed him, but hating to admit it was only the start, he refused to do just that. If he did, it would put Sebastian at an even greater risk, one he wasn't willing to take, no matter what the game called for, he would never put Sebastian in the firing line because some bastard would use his emotions to toy with him.

So he lay there, waiting in his half-dead state aching for the moment Jim came back, mind casting back to each night he did come back, and without a word they would both lay there, not doing anything more than Jim breathing against his chest as he cried against him. They never spoke of it the next day; in fact, they never spoke of the disappearances at all. Yet this time, he lay there, day after day, a week more passed before he pulled himself from the bed, into the kitchen to eat something and drink anything other than the rum he had hidden beneath the bed. It made him wonder, how he was still alive with this treatment; self medication. The weeks went on, it became two months. His head would shoot up each time he thought he heard the door open, thought he could hear that voice ready to play a new game. He needed Jim, it was two months now. Not a sound from Jim, nothing. He wouldn't text him, no. He refused to give in first. But he craved for the presence of the criminal, he felt empty, dead without Jim in fact... he felt worse than empty, because empty is something, it's a physical term, it's the lack of something. But Sebastian was less than that, he wasn't a ghost, he wasn't alive nor dead.

3 months. Not a single tiny word, he started to panic. Questioning his sanity, did Jim ever even exist? Or was it something these pills that he'd been taken created? Can you create a memory, emotions? Can you fall in love with an idea, a brilliant idea that your own mind has created from the usage of drugs. So he continued to drink, refusing to cry over a made up idea. He walked past Jim's room each and every day; a habit he had to follow through with, yet acting as if it never existed, as if the door was merely more of the wall painted slightly differently.

Four months went by before he gave in. He knew Jim existed, he had to exist. No one obsesses over a fictional character, not like this. No one cries themselves to sleep each and every night, no one brings the knife across the skin because it's the only pain equal to which he feels inside of him. He had to give in, or his mind would tear itself apart.

_Boss, you coming home anytime soon? –SM_

He didn't know what else to say as he shaking fingers tapped away at the phone in front of him. Yet he couldn't stop; he'd torn apart the damn he built up, he was crying, shaking, begging muttered words for Jim to come home. Sebastian's mind cast to images of the worst, that Jim had finally had enough, he was that bored of everything around him, his life, Sebastian, that he'd finally put the bullet through his brain.

_No, no stop it Moran, just fucking stop._

Sat on the sofa, he carried out the act he'd long ago stopped feeling guilty for. Refusing to leave the flat, he'd been alone his mind had gone awry. Nobody had seen him, spoke to him, touched him... hi mind shown him images of what he craved each time he closed his eyes, each time becoming more detailed; graphic, until finally he kept his eyes closed. He could see them, together, moving together in a memory long before. He felt the tensions grow in his trousers, the thoughts of '_This is wrong, this shouldn't be done...' _had long ago succumbed to the basic need of human instinct and want. He let his mind play out the scene, repeating one after the other until he felt himself fully hard, his hand sliding his boxers down around his knees (he'd long ago given up getting dressed in the morning, or afternoon; whichever he awoke to) hand clasping around his cock, he tipped his head back against the sofa, watching the memory replay itself for him, the way Jim moved with him inside of him, how it felt to have Jims mouth wrapped around his cock, leaving him tantalisingly breathless after every single encounter together. Slowly moving his hand along himself, he let himself unwind in a release that would spare his mind and heart of the months torment if only for a few precious moments. He set the pace slow, long strokes to begin with as he saw the start, how Jim would carefully remove each item of clothing of his own as he repeated his actions on Sebastian, how his hands would glide along his skin, moving from one half of his body to the other, how his mouth would work its way around his body, paying great detail in ensuring Sebastian was fully satisfied and begging for him, and then, only then would Jim pay any attention to the part of him that needed him most.

His rhythm increased, as he imagined a noise behind him; the door closing and footsteps. He'd learnt to ignore these noises, his imagination and continued. Moving his hips in time with his hand, the image changed, the movie playing behind his eyes became faster, more passionate. He watched as Jim kissed and bit his thigh, sliding his hands under his arse, spreading his legs to make it easier for him to prepare Sebastian. His hand moved faster as he felt Jims hands move across him, his fingers gently relaxing the muscles that longed for the burn. He felt... something, but surely it was his imagination? Yet he could feel... shaking the thought away, he continued, letting soft moans escape as he felt his hand move faster, faster, his breathing increasing. Heat pumping harder as he felt Jim slide another finger into him, taking his cock into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks, scraping his teeth against his shaft once in a while, giving him the pain he desired.

Yet something was different, this wasn't a casual wank anymore, no... he could feel someone else, taking hold of him. Someone else was replacing his hands with their own, but too lost in his dream he let it happen, thinking it was a new stage of delusion. _It can't be Jim, he's gone Moran, probably for good this time. _The film changed again, Jim was pressed in against him, thrusting hard against him, his legs wrapped around Jims hips as he stroked Jims cock with his own hand. He felt the hands be replaced with something different, warmer, softer.. wetter...

"Jim...fuck... Jim..." he moaned loudly, not afraid to admit who gave him the most pleasure he could even imagine. His hips bucked into whatever held onto him, willingly taking the entirety of him in. He felt the movie become real, the pace quickening, the pressure deepen. He felt the pleasure build inside of him, drawing him closer to the end.

"No... don't go... Jim... fuck!"

He was begging, he couldn't lose Jim, he had him again for few precious moments, losing him again as his mind blanked out, his skin sweating as he felt the cum spill out from him, panting heavily, he removed his hands, to find they were already on his shirt, gripping at it from the pleasure. Opening his eyes slowly he blinked; focusing back on reality, back onto the one thing that kept him merely sane.

"evening tiger, see you missed me."


End file.
